


Dirt

by electricblueninja



Series: Rise [6]
Category: DBSK | Tohoshinki | TVfXQ | TVXQ
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-13
Updated: 2016-11-25
Packaged: 2018-08-14 20:22:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8027725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/electricblueninja/pseuds/electricblueninja





	1. Chapter 1

Changmin ended up simply leaving the riverbank warehouse after Yunho walked out. The moment Yunho left, so did Changmin’s only reason to be there. He had no interest in aggravating the son of Choi house. He was only there to

 

 

_take back what’s mine_

 

 

Only Yunho wasn’t his, was he? Not in any way, not even either of the times Changmin had tried, in the most primitive way possible, in those milliseconds of absolute union, shared nirvana, to lay some kind of claim to him.

 

 

In no way was he Changmin’s, and in no way was he willing to _become_ Changmin’s. Yunho had said it, loud and clear: _Don’t follow me._ And Changmin _heard_ it. The trouble was that it didn’t matter. Yunho’s words reached his ears, and entered his brain, but because of something strange happening deep in Changmin’s core, he might hear the words, but he wasn’t _listening_.

 

 

As he walked out of the warehouse, Changmin felt it happening again: the kickback.

 

 

It was like every time he came to the verge of understanding the strange emotion coiling in his core, like some kind of warp drive; each time he almost admitted to the monster under the bed, under the covers of his heart, the walls came down. His _mind,_ trained for so long to repress and override impulsive and useless emotions, would kick the stirring embers back into the shadowy recesses, back where _feelings_ belonged.

 

 

But it wasn’t quite working, this time. The monster under the bed was getting too big and too strong for the space that had previously been able to contain it—it was reaching out, and with the unfurling of its hot, soft tendrils, it was melting what it touched.

 

 

It made Changmin feel uncomfortable; delirious; so he had left quickly, after silencing Siwon. Partly because he didn’t care what the other man had to say, but mostly because he felt like he was unravelling from the inside, in the worst possible way.

 

 

Put Changmin, unarmed, in a small room with a pack of armed and violent men, and he knew what to do. But this? He had nothing to protect himself against this. There was only one cure for a poison like this, and it was a man, a man going far from Changmin, and telling him not to follow.

 

 

And, for now, Changmin had no _way_ of following, because Yunho had taken the car.

 

 

He called Heechul, to admit to what had happened. Not all of it. He only said that he had fought the Choi cohort to get Yunho back, and failed, because Yunho ran. He did not admit to the monster that had provoked his violent outburst. (He told himself it didn’t seem relevant.) Heechul, upon learning of the incident, asked first if he was injured, and then, when he said no, told him to go home, and call again from there. So Changmin called a taxi, and went back to his apartment.

 

 

He didn’t bother to switch on the lights when he got there; just sat on the edge of his couch to call Heechul a second time.

 

 

‘I’m home now.’

 

 

‘Good. Take it easy, Shim. Might be a good idea to go and see Dr Kim tomorrow, but let’s sit on this for now. Did you learn anything from Jung Jihye?’

 

 

‘Yes, actually.’ _Christ, was that only hours ago?_ ‘Yes. She said something peculiar when I first asked about her brother.’

 

 

‘What was that?’

 

 

Changmin closed his eyes in the dark and leaned against the back of the couch. ‘Well…She said that he was dead, hyungnim. That he’d been dead for years.’

 

 

Silence, followed by an eventual, ‘Huh.’

 

 

Having nothing further to add, Changmin just waited.

 

 

‘You’re right,’ said Heechul. ‘That is weird.’ There was another pause, and even over the phone, Changmin thought that he could almost hear Heechul thinking. ‘Well, thanks, Shim. That…gives me somewhere to start, anyway. Like I said, check in with me tomorrow. For now, get some rest.’

 

 

‘Yes, sir.’

 

 

Changmin hung up, and sat there with his eyes closed for a little while longer, thinking that sleep might drag him under. But it did not come, and after a while the sharp recollections of Yunho’s shaved head and battered face began to disturb him, so he got up and moved to the light switch.

 

 

As he turned back towards the room, the light revealed to him the alarming fact that he was not alone.

 

 

There were men in his kitchen. Two of them.

 

 

For a moment, he was overcome by annoyance with himself, for failing to notice their presence, but he forced himself to focus on the situation at hand. There was no time for self-reproach. A lapse like that that could have gotten him killed, but if they had let him move around this much, then they couldn't want him dead. At least not immediately. 

 

 

One of them, of medium build and bland facial features, seated neatly at his counter, was unfamiliar.

 

 

The other man, though, standing at his shoulder: Changmin knew him. He knew him because the second time he'd seen Yunho, when he'd gone to minimise the effects of kicking the hornet's nest, this man had been among the attackers. This was none other than the one whom Changmin had left unconscious on the concrete. And he had been the momentary apparition Changmin had thought he'd glimpsed, moving among the uniformed figures while Yunho’s house burned.

 

 

The recognition was mutual. The other man stiffened the moment that their eyes met. Changmin noted anger in his eyes and the set of his jaw.

 

 

He smiled mildly at him and stared a moment longer before transferring his gaze to the unfamiliar man seated in the foreground.

 

 

The unfamiliar one spoke.

 

 

‘Hello, Shim Changmin.’

 

 

‘Evening. I didn’t know I was having dinner guests.’

 

 

‘Apologies for stopping by unannounced. We won’t be staying for dinner.’

 

 

His tone was somewhere between insipid and sinister. It was…creepy.

 

 

Changmin straightened to his full height. ‘To whom do I owe the pleasure?’

 

 

The other man was clearly not intimidated. ‘Oh, well. Mr Choi was in touch, you see. I heard you, uh, intervened in a meeting today, on someone else’s behalf. Is that right?’

 

 

Changmin said nothing.

 

 

‘Friend of yours, is he?’ the stranger continued, undeterred.

 

 

‘Not really.’

 

 

‘Huh. Strange, then, that you would risk your life to try and save him.’

 

 

There was a strange sound, which Changmin realised after a moment was the sound of his own teeth, grinding together as he clamped his jaw shut. He did not recognise this man, but he recognised bad intentions when he saw them.

 

 

How was this guy connected to Yunho?

 

 

‘Look, Shim. This doesn’t have to be difficult for you. Particularly as you aren’t _friends,_ or anything like that. You don’t even have to tell your boss—I assume that that was him, on the phone—that you talked to me. You just have to tell me where he’s going.’

 

 

The stranger stood up and moved towards Changmin, closing the gap between them. He was most definitely a biped, but somehow, the way he walked reminded Changmin of a snake.

 

 

The stranger stopped, perhaps noticing Changmin’s exponentially increasing tension as he approached. He began to speak again from three feet away.

 

 

‘I knew that I probably couldn’t rely on the Choi family to get their act together. It’s not what they do, after all. They’re famous for losing it, aren’t they? Not keeping it together.’ He smiled, suddenly congenial. ‘You, though, Shim…well, I know you get things done. You’ve got quite the reputation. But all I know about you _personally_ ’ – another step forward – ‘is that you keep _obstructing_ my business, and pulling Jung Yunho right out of my hands.’

 

 

It was weird. All of a sudden, Changmin could hear his own heartbeat in his ears.

 

 

It was not fear that elevated his blood pressure.

 

 

It was that irrational anger.

 

 

That _possessive_ feeling. _That_ thing.

 

 

It was the monster, re-emerging, and it was angry. Changmin was angry, too: angry because he did not understand; because he was threatened; because this stranger had broken into his home; because he was confused; because he was probably in love.

 

 

Unfortunately, the monster was passion, and passion clogged the senses, and unravelled decades of training. Emanating fury from his very pores, Changmin lost his wider, soldier's awareness of his surroundings, and by the time he noticed the person or the blunt instrument behind him, he was far, far too late to stop the blow.


	2. Chapter 2

Honestly, Yunho would have preferred to have been right about his initial misgivings about Changmin.

 

 

When the other man had turned up at Jihye's door, looking for him, he had almost been grateful, because it had allowed everything fall into a recognisable pattern in his mind, and create a narrative that seemed logical and obvious.

 

 

For anyone to know about Jihye, Park had to have told them about her. So it had been a comfortable and natural assumption that Changmin had sold him out. That was what any normal person would have done, right?

 

 

Or it was just as possible that, because Shim Changmin was former special forces, former military, former soldier, he might know everything already; it was possible that he was poisonous himself; infected with hidden evils; a part of the extended network of the organisation, or at least close enough that they could reach out to him to help them get their hands on Yunho, having caught wind of him.

 

 

To Yunho’s mind, suspicious out of necessity, these were both equally natural and plausible explanations.

 

 

And it would have been so much _simpl_ _er_ if one of them had been true. What conclusion could he draw, other than that Changmin was hunting him, when he arrived at Jihye’s door?

 

 

Why else would Changmin come after him? To _help_ him?

 

 

The thought was laughable. The first time, he'd helped him, but that could very easily have been a trust-gaining exercise. It was a basic tactic, to save someone, win their trust, become their protector, and, later on, tip them into the acid. Sex aside, the organisation did the trust-and-manipulation thing all the time.

 

 

Done right, men could be convinced to dig their own graves. Men like Yunho. After all, that was what had happened, all those years ago.

 

 

Yes, when Changmin came to Jihye’s house, it was no stretch of the imagination to believe that he had either betrayed him, or deceived him from the start. And after that, Yunho had thought no more, and just made his escape. Even then, it was not an earnest attempt to get away—it was only intended as a distraction, to get them away from Jihye. Had he successfully escaped, they would only have gone back to her, and taken her, and used her as bait, and she would have been stirred deeper into the pit of shit that his life was rapidly becoming.

 

 

And the fact of the matter was that Yunho suddenly felt it was futile. ‘It’…everything.

 

 

The moment he heard Changmin’s voice, it was as though on some level he’d been _waiting_ for it— _hoping_ to hear it again. Which was weird, and stupid, because he had had his epiphany, now, about what Changmin must be, and if it was Changmin pulling the net over his head, then maybe Yunho almost _wan_ _t_ _ed_ to die.

 

 

In view of these things, his ‘escape’ had been half-hearted. He’d fought, when they caught up to him, but not hard. Not hard enough to get away. Now that they knew he was still alive, and now that a man like Changmin was coming after him, he would never truly get away.

 

 

He was slightly surprised, after being transported to a suitably derelict location, to find that the man presiding over the thugs who abducted him was Choi Siwon. Choi Siwon and Changmin as collaborators? It didn’t seem quite right, but he supposed it made a _ki_ _n_ _d_ of sense. Enemies were all too easily united for a common cause. And the organisation had fingers in every pie, and of course Yunho had already known all too well that their influence extended to regional politics.

 

 

The thugs tied Yunho, who had made only token gestures of resistance, down to a metal chairframe. It probably wouldn’t have been enough to hold him still if he’d truly wanted to get away, but he couldn’t convince himself to try.

 

 

He didn’t even have the energy to bother making eye contact with Siwon, nor had he acknowledged the theatrical ‘Welcome’.

 

 

This had seemed to agitate his captor, who prowled closer, but was unable to do anything to intimidate Yunho by himself, as his hands were encased in plaster.

 

 

‘Trying to ignore me, I see,’ Siwon had said, condescendingly, leaning in at close quarters. Yunho’s failure to respond elicited a snarl that was somehow almost audible. By ignoring the handsome man, Yunho did perhaps the only thing that genuinely peturbed his captor, who spat on his face and hissed ‘Knew you were scum’ before stepping back a few feet and glowering silently for a while.

 

 

Yunho continued to sit in subdued and apathetic silence.

 

 

‘One of you idiots get his attention,’ the obnoxious voice had demanded, and a couple of the thugs moved forward quickly at the order. One wore knuckledusters, and the other carried a gun, so it was clear to Yunho which of them would have the job of ‘getting his attention’.

 

 

True to form, the one with the gun put it away, and, presumably at an unspoken direction from one of the others, grabbed the sides of Yunho’s head roughly from behind, forcing his face upwards to meet a punch that pounded into his cheekbone, splitting the skin of his cheek and sending an unpleasant shock through his skull and neck.

 

 

His head span, but the thug had held him firm for another, and another. The metal against bone made a sickening thunk each time. Yunho could feel his teeth shift in his jaw with the impact.

 

 

‘Alright, that’ll do for a moment,’ Siwon had interjected, and the guy with the knuckledusters stilled and stood aside, so that Siwon could continue his theatrics as the Most Powerful Man In The Room.

 

 

‘Scum, Jung Yunho. Scum that should be dead already, so I’ve been advised that there’s no issue if you come to harm before you get where you’re really going.’

 

 

Short of closing his eyes, Yunho had had no choice but to look at Siwon as he spoke, so he looked, but remained unmoving, except for the blood that dripped down his face from the tears in his flesh.

 

 

‘Knew you were scum the second I saw you in that filthy excuse of a bar, but I had no idea what a _stupid_ man you were,’ Siwon had said, looking faintly gleeful. ‘Crossed some very dangerous people, didn’t you? Goddamn moron. All because you were so determined to do the _right thing_. Pity the world doesn’t work like that, huh? A total coincidence that I saw you, that night; had no idea who you really were, then, and why would I? Dirtbag like you—you’re nothing. You’re dust. You were dead already, weren’t you? The moment you crossed them. Anyway, you were unlucky, because I remembered your face, so I knew where they needed to go as soon as they showed us who they were looking for.

 

 

‘See, just after that, Mr Park approached my father, and they have, say, mutual interests.

 

 

‘They agreed to cooperate. And as a gesture of goodwill, we agreed to help Mr Park to get you. So now, I get the pleasure of handing you over, to do whatever it is they’re going to do with you. You can’t cheat death again. Drop his face.’ This last to the thug holding his head, who obeyed, and Yunho had been unable to hold his own chin up, ghost lights dancing in front of his eyes.

 

 

It was at this point that the door opened, and three men stood silhouetted outside.

 

 

As Yunho looked up through the stinging dark curtain of his own blood to see Changmin standing in the doorway, this too seemed somehow inevitable. Further confirmation of the only possible explanation, though it contrasted awfully with an unwanted memory of Changmin’s face, when their bodies were locked in carnal embrace. Then, Changmin had had that strange innocence, and it had been almost as though…

 

 

_No._

 

 

_He’s come for them. Not me. He’ll take me to Park. He’s a dog._

 

 

But maybe…maybe even if Changmin was here to take him to them, perhaps Yunho could ask him to kill him, en route. It was a small chance, but a chance all the same, that Changmin would show him that small mercy, and Changmin, at least, would do it quickly.

 

 

Changmin turned towards him, but Yunho’s ears were still ringing, his head swimming, and he’d had to avert his eyes; pretend not to look, pretend not to see.

 

 

But reality was broken. Reality transformed itself again, and there was a beautiful, savage, violent dance, to the rhythm of disjointed, pained cries, and Yunho was surrounded by the fallen bodies of the men who had taken him. Changmin…Changmin was stringing them together, like weird dolls, all in a heap.

 

 

Changmin _had_ come for him, but not…not for Park?

 

 

Yunho had only been able to stare, his head pounding, when Changmin, after a long silence, said the strangest thing:

 

 

‘Why did you leave, Yunho?’

 

 

_What do you mean, why did I leave?_

 

 

What _did_ he mean? Did he think that…that _that_ had meant something? Because it hadn’t. _It hadn’t._

 

 

‘Why would I stay?’ he’d retorted, the reply thickened by the blood in his mouth, but unhesitating, and Changmin had taken a step back, his face contorting strangely.

 

 

‘Fucking hell,’ he’d said, ‘I'm trying to help you, Yunho.’

 

 

_I'm trying to help you._

 

 

He laughed, the sound harsh and grating. ‘Why? Why would you do that?’ he’d said, and one of the thugs had muttered ‘Psycho’, and Changmin had responded with a violent gesture with the furniture that indicated they were entirely correct.

 

 

Then, bewilderingly, he had cut Yunho free. He’d knelt at his side. His face was hidden, but his voice soft when he’d almost whispered, ‘For fuck's sake Yunho, I'm trying to protect you’, and Yunho’s insides twisted, moved by the strange and violent beauty of Changmin’s calculated, efficient, and restrained attack. In his name. Suddenly, the dullness of resignation was shredded by the painful intrusion of unwanted emotions, and he hated everything, everything except Changmin, and himself even more for the same reason.

 

 

‘Don't,’ he’d replied, ‘I already asked you—stop.’

 

 

The thought that Changmin might be telling the truth suddenly scared Yunho more than death. So, his mind searching desperately for patterns it recognised, he decided it could not be true. Changmin could _not_ be trying to help him. He was…he was chasing him because Heechul had ordered it. He _must_ be. Yunho ran, and Changmin followed because Yunho was more useful to Heechul as a living pawn than a dead man. That was all. _That was all._

 

 

And though he nearly fell, he stood up, but Changmin snapped, taking his shirt by fistfuls and shoving him roughly back against the wall. It was jarring, shocking him further out of his reverie, and suddenly Yunho was angrier than he was broken.

 

 

‘Why won't you let me help you?’ Changmin asked, his eyes too big, too pleading.

 

 

Who the fuck was Shim Changmin? _Why wouldn’t he go away?_

 

 

There was a noise from the crumpled and concertinaed thugs, and Yunho had taken advantage of the distraction to push back.

 

 

‘What I need is for you to _leave me alone_ , Changmin. You don't know anything about me. You don't know—’

 

 

He got no further, because another wave of dizziness and agony washed through him, and the only thing that brought him back into consciousness was the tender sensation of Changmin’s hands, warm over his own.

 

 

‘Yunho. Please. Let me help you,’ he’d said, but Yunho had refused.

 

 

He defaulted.

 

 

He ran again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is slightly out of sequence, and probably should've been...the first chapter of this part...? Sorry! My poor excuse is that I'm kinda new to writing, you know, stories with actual plots... ^^;;
> 
> By the same token, if I've, uh, made any massive logical fallacies, feel free to shoot me a message...


	3. Chapter 3

When Changmin came to his senses again, it took him a moment to recognise the brick wall in front of him.

 

 

A brick wall in a small room. A chair on its side, fallen in the aftermath of some kind of violence.

 

 

Ah, yes. The warehouse again. Only now he was in the position that Yunho had been in, earlier that afternoon.

 

 

A face leered into his line of sight, much too close to his own, grinning.

 

 

‘Welcome back, Shim. To consciousness, and to this fine establishment. _Y_ _ou’re_ the guest of honour this time, of course.’

 

 

His smirk made Changmin’s skin crawl.

 

 

He needed no introduction to know that this was him.

 

 

Mr Park.

 

 

He tried to open his mouth to unleash a snarky riposte at his captor, but got no further than parting his lips before a rough cloth pulled harshly at the corners of his mouth. It pressed down on his tongue, and would have silenced his voice if he had attempted to speak.

 

 

The man with the nondescript face watched closely as Changmin reined in his temper, and then stood back at a more reasonable distance, still smiling broadly.

 

 

‘I did a little research about you, Shim, after you came and smashed up the Choi kid. Again.

 

 

‘He’s none too pleased about it, you know. He’s racking up quite a medical bill because of you. And when the little prince is unhappy, his father is too. And this…well, it’s a problem. For you. Maybe the first time you broke him, you were just doing your job. But today…that was something else, wasn’t it?’

 

 

The man turned away and crossed the room to pick up the fallen chair.

 

 

While he had his back turned, Changmin tested the binding around his wrists. He could feel plastic, sharp against his skin, and cold metal. Zipties, then. And handcuffs.

 

 

Handcuffs?

 

 

This gave him a moment’s pause, because they felt like police issue.

 

 

Sure, there were plenty of ways for the resourceful to get their hands on police gear. But that guy, the one he recognised, the one who’d been wearing the uniform, that time, among the emergency vehicles, while Yunho’s apartment burned down…If he thought about it, he seemed to remember him dressed like a cop. Did they have some bent officer in their midst, maybe?

 

 

As he contemplated this, he tested the restraints on his lower limbs, which were also bound in place.

 

 

Expertly.

 

 

This was not the way that Yunho had been bound earlier that afternoon.

 

 

These people knew what they were doing.

 

 

He stilled quickly when the man turned back around, bringing the chair with him and setting it down so that they sat face-to-face.

 

 

‘Anyway. You were real popular while you were in Special Forces, huh? They said you were an absolute joy to work with.’

 

 

Changmin rolled his eyes at the facetious remark. He could not imagine many of his former colleagues describing him as a ‘joy’.

 

 

‘No, but seriously, Min—can I call you Min?—mostly, they said you were a little…well…uptight. Kept your nose clean, they said. Not a bad thing, of course, and you were smart about it, too, weren't you? Let the wool be pulled over your eyes when you needed to.

 

 

‘Prudent.

 

 

‘That was very _prudent_ of you, Shim.

 

 

‘You were so clever, and so _good_ , right up until you left, and began to use your limited skill set for evil.’

 

 

Mr Park heaved a melodramatic sigh, and Changmin frowned, unsure of where this was going. If Mr Park was trying to shame him for his life choices, it wasn’t going to work.

 

 

Unless…Park wasn’t trying to _shame_ him. If he did have an arm in the police force, he might be aiming for something else entirely.

 

 

He might be trying to threaten him.

 

 

Mr Park continued, and what he said confirmed this suspicion. ‘Shim Changmin. Golden boy of special forces. You've got such a baby face, but...No job too dirty for Min, here, was there? If it was an order, it would get signed, sealed, and delivered, with a big red bow. Did some terrible things in the name of the state, didn’t you, Shim? And don’t you hate the way it’s always _off the books_ , in the end? All that noble stuff—noble, but awful, and cruel, and the records are sealed, and in the end only a handful of people know about the things you did, but only a smaller handful still knows _why_ you did them. Terrible things, if you take away their context. No wonder that you became an actual criminal, with those underlying violent tendencies.

 

 

‘See, it’s different, isn’t it? I think you left because you didn’t like the way certain things were done, while you were in there. You didn’t like my friends. But the thing is, because _they’re_ still _soldiers_ by profession, there are ways that they can be excused for the things they do.

 

 

‘You, though…By the letter of the law, you’re a real criminal.

 

 

'I can see the headlines now: "Former Special Forces Officer Goes Rogue"...

 

 

‘This is what our little network is _for._

 

 

‘See, the difference between us, Shim Changmin, is not what we do. It’s that you wouldn't compromise. You didn't know how to work on the inside. You try too hard to be good. You’re too rigid, and worse, you’re smart, but you’re not smart _enough._ You were smart enough to turn a blind eye, but you didn’t quite _get it_. You saw the hill, and you stepped away from it, thinking that that was enough; that you got out; that you could take your unusual skill set to someone who could use it, and even if he was a two-bit crook, it was still easier for you, because Kim Heechul’s honest about it, in his own way, isn’t he? No subterfuge. He plays by the rules, so you can swallow it.

 

 

‘But the thing is, it wasn’t just a warren in a hill. It’s a network. It’s much bigger than it looks from the outside. It extends much further than the visible edifice. You didn’t understand how _deep_ it went. And you were smart enough to leave, but not smart enough to disappear.

 

 

‘Lucky for you, there are people who liked that. It meant they could keep tabs on you. They knew where you were, and what you were doing, and how to get you when they needed to.

 

 

‘That’s where I come into it, Shim. That’s what I do.

 

 

‘I take people down when they start causing problems.

 

 

‘You have caused a problem.

 

 

‘Your employer would be very disappointed in you.

 

 

‘That is, if he knew.

 

 

‘He doesn’t, of course. I wouldn’t make a mistake like that. Wouldn’t want to tread on his toes. He thinks he owns this city, and it’s good for us if he keeps on feeling that way. But he doesn’t dream big enough, and he doesn’t see the benefits of what we’re trying to do. You know what this warehouse is full of, Shim? Didn’t notice today, did you. Too busy running in to save _your mate._ Jung.’ He spat, suddenly exuding venom and vitriol.

 

 

‘Jung Yunho. That fuck should’ve stayed dead. Bad luck, that Choi Siwon recognised him from a photo. Which means, in the end, it’s your fault; you brought us down on him. I’m sure you didn’t mean to, of course. Would’ve rewarded you for that, frankly, to start with. For finding him. But you kept showing up _and taking him away from me._ ’ He came forward; patted Changmin’s head. ‘You've been making things too interesting. You've been wasting my time.’

 

 

Park leaned down again, his face scant inches from Changmin’s as he took a handful of his hair in his fist, tipping his head back and forcing him to look upwards.

 

 

He was still smiling, and the self-satisfaction on his smooth face made Changmin’s stomach churn.

 

 

A tug at his hair. Not gentle. Fingers tightening their grip as the fingers of his other hand fastened under Changmin’s jaw. Maximising physical contact. A simple form of threat. ‘Now, tell me, Min. Are you going to play nice? I’m still prepared to negotiate.’


	4. Chapter 4

They’d left the keys in the car, out front of the warehouse.

 

 

Yunho didn’t hesitate, not even for a moment. He got in the car, and rifled through the glovebox, looking for something, anything, to hastily patch his face up, get some of the blood off. No dice, so he just ripped a bit off one side of the hem of his sister’s husband’s now-ruined shirt, and, using the remnants of a half-full plastic bottle of water found on the floor, he dampened the shreds, swabbing at the worst of it, concentrating on the wide cut near his eye.

 

 

He drank the couple of mouthfuls of water that remained. It tasted slightly plasticky, as though it had been rolling around the bottom of the car for months, hot in summer and frozen in winter. Didn’t taste great, but it wouldn’t kill him, and he needed it. Couldn’t afford to pass out on the road. He had no idea where he would stop next.

 

 

Resting his cast-bound wrist on the steering wheel, he started the car, and began to drive.

 

 

He drove until he started to recognise the roads, and then drove further.

 

 

Out of Gwangju.

 

 

He was done here.

 

 

_What about Changmin?_

 

 

The intrusive thought prompted him to turn on the radio, but the 80s synth ballad was a woman’s voice, singing emotively about the failure of a man to understand her acts of desperation, performed in the name of a foolish, misguided, unrequited love, addressing an imagined ‘you’ in a loving but accusing tone.

 

 

Her voice, telling 'you' the tale of how she was too hurt to be angry about ‘your’ rejection of love, made Yunho think of Changmin’s enormous brown eyes.

 

 

He lasted half a verse before he switched it off again, seething.

 

 

The lights at the intersection ahead turned red, and he pulled up, the car’s engine thrumming restlessly at the delay. It was a powerful car, and it wanted to go faster.

 

 

‘What _about_ Changmin?’ he muttered, aloud, but the car didn’t care.

 

 

 _What about Changmin_ , indeed _?_

 

 

He was _not_ Yunho’s problem.

 

 

Changmin knew what he was doing. He had strung those Choi family thugs together like a string of sausages. He would be fine.

 

 

Anyway, it wasn’t like Yunho had asked for his help.

 

 

Quite the opposite—Yunho had asked him _not_ to help. He didn’t _want_ his help.

 

 

The lights turned green, and Yunho drove on. But he couldn’t shake his uneasiness. The ballad that had been playing before—he knew how the lyrics continued, and he didn’t want them too, but they began to play in his head anyway.

 

 

_I’d do anything for you_

_Oh, the things I’ve done_

_You still don’t want this love_

_You turn and run. I wait._

 

 

Changmin was too much. For all his violence, and inscrutability, he was too young, and too stupid. And too innocent, sometimes. _T_ _hose_ times. Both times.

 

 

Yunho hadn’t meant anything by it—he’d just wanted the satisfaction of getting laid, and a six-foot hot mess had seemed like a great option. Sex felt good, and it gave him a certain satisfaction to know that in at least one small aspect of his so-called life, his life as a ghost, he could maintain some small measure of control, and mean something to someone. Didn’t matter who. Hadn’t mattered that it was Changmin, back in the bar, the first time; he’d just liked the way Changmin looked at him. He’d liked the way he could penetrate that facade of hard-assed bastardry and bend Changmin to his will.

 

 

The second time, though…that really had been plain old stupid.

 

 

 _Too far, Yunho. Too far. You let the boundaries blur_.

 

 

‘It was just sex,’ he muttered aloud, but the car’s interior only responded with silence.

 

 

‘Fuck Changmin,’ Yunho added, wanting desperately to hate him.

 

 

But the fact remained that, both times, Yunho had been the one to start it. And maybe, from the first time, he should have known that that wasn’t fair.

 

 

He might ask himself or the empty car why—why Changmin had come to Jihye’s house, why he had come to the warehouse, and why he kept fighting a fight that had nothing to do with him—but he already knew. In the pit of his stomach, in a closed-off, dark and secret place, and in Changmin’s doe-like eyes, he _knew_. And what he had done; what he was doing now, by leaving; it wasn’t fair on Changmin, who cared about him.

 

 

He gritted his teeth, and kept driving.

 

 

He was sixty kilometres out of Gwangju, en route to Daegu, when he turned back.

 

 

Initially, after the u-turn, he wasn’t sure where he was going to go. There was no _right_ course of action, because there was no _good_. The world wasn’t like that, and Yunho knew it. But that just made it harder to choose where to go and what to do.

 

 

Find Changmin and apologise?

 

 

Tell him the whole story?

 

 

No. He was still too proud for that.

 

 

Ten kilometres out of town, he realised that he had to go to Kim Heechul.

 

 

Even if only for Changmin’s sake, and even if he never actually saw Changmin, it was Kim Heechul who dealt in information, and it was Kim Heechul who should choose what to do with Yunho.

 

 

But he wasn’t entirely sure how to go about contacting him. His only connection had been through his protector, Changmin. He was on his own now.

 

 

The only place he could think to go to was the doctor. There were a couple of wrong turns after he re-entered Gwangju, but he managed to find the surgery.

 

 

The building was secured, with a screen-intercom by the door.

 

 

Yunho pressed the buzzer for Dr Kim’s office and waited, making sure his face was well-lit.

 

 

The doctor said nothing, of course, but after a minute or so of silence, the door clicked unlocked.

 

 

Up the stairs, to the left, Dr Kim was waiting in the doorway, his mouth a thin line and his brow furrowed. He stood aside, and gestured for Yunho to enter, which he did.

 

 

Yunho, momentarily at a loss, found pen and paper on the desk, scrawled _I’m Yunho. You cast my arm._ The doctor, who had come to stand at his side, stared at it, and then at Yunho quizzically.

 

 

He plucked the pen from Yunho’s hand with deft and delicate fingers, and wrote his response. _I’m dumb, not deaf. And I remember you._

 

 

‘Oh. Yeah,’ said Yunho, embarrassed. ‘Sorry.’

 

 

_It’s fine. You look like you need medical attention._

 

 

‘Actually, I need to see Kim Heechul. I didn’t know how to find him, except through you.’

 

 

The doctor stared at him again, and then made a line under his words: _medical attention_ _._


End file.
